


all is lost in memory

by stellaris



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:59:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7214176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellaris/pseuds/stellaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I do not have memories, here. I do not even know my own name. I try my best to put a memory to these forlorn faces, to remember even the slightest hint of the life I had lead, but I cannot. There is only one thing I remember: a name, the syllables flowing gracefully together even on my clumsy tongue.</p><p>  <em>Achilles.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	all is lost in memory

i.

I do not recognize much of anyone in the Underworld.

There is spark of _something_ within me as I pass face after face, body after body. It feels as though I should know these people. Like we have met before, clasped hands like men, fought together as men. The bodies of spirits are shifting, their features indistinct to my eyes, but I still catch the end of a scar here, and here and here. There is a strange pull in me to run my hand over them, to peer closer to inspect them all. I could imagine the blood spilling from them still yet. I could imagine pressing down on them and coating them with healing mixtures and herbs, sweat running down my temple, hands calloused by the rough handle of a blade I do not have.

But in the end, they are just images. I do not have memories, here. I do not even know my own name. I try my best to put a memory to these forlorn faces, to remember even the slightest hint of the life I had lead, but I cannot. There is only one thing I remember: a name, the syllables flowing gracefully together even on my clumsy tongue.

Achilles.

ii.

I am searching for something. For what, I do not know. Achilles? It must be so. When I think of that name, the darkness that plagues my vision becomes brighter, my surroundings more focused. It is as if Hades himself is prompting me, trying to lead me to this person.

I can feel that it is right. _Achilles, Achilles, Achilles._ It sounds almost like a song.

Sharp, hot stabs of pain prod at my skull then, an image trying to form inside my mind. I can see the bright blue of the sea outside of a wooden window, and somehow, I can nearly taste the salt that coats the air around us.

 _Us._ There is someone else here, in this image — memory? Perhaps. A lyre sits in a boy’s lap, golden and glinting gloriously in the high sun of the afternoon. Nimble fingers dance across the strings, and he leans back in the chair, his mouth open in a silent song. I do not see his face — only the shine of his bright, golden hair falling across his shoulders.

iii.

Time passes, or perhaps it does not. I look and look and look among the sea of spirits, but there is nothing to see. Just the darkened impressions of heads and eyes, all with the same wandering expression that are reflected in mine.

iv.

When it is my time to receive judgement, Hades grants me Elysium. The highest honor for heroes, and the most sought-after desire of all fallen spirits.

It is like a dream. Outside, I had only known impenetrable darkness and crowded, stagnant-aired fields. Here, I feel as though I have somehow come back to life. There is no sky in the Underworld, and yet I am standing beneath the clearest one I have ever seen, it’s sun radiating with brilliance. The grass is soft and wet with dew beneath my feet, and along the line of homes on the riverside, I can see splashes of flowers and herbs flourishing with health. I breathe in deeply; I think I have never taken in such clean air.

There are other people milling about, playing and relaxing and laughing. Again, I do not see anyone I might recognize. Disappointment curls in my chest; I had hoped, perhaps a bit foolishly, that I would come to find Achilles among them, waiting for me.

v.

Here, the images I’d seen before come more rapidly, and I know now that they are not just images, but memories. Achilles, tossing figs in the air, his eyes flitting to mine with a smile made of mischief. Achilles, rubbing his nose against mine, his body warm with sleep and smelling of both of us. Achilles, taking my hand in his and pointing at the constellations adorning the roof of Chiron's cave. _Andromeda,_ he says, _is but a candle compared to you._ This, and this and this.

The more memories that come back, the more longing I feel, the sharper the ache becomes in my chest. My wants and needs blend into one: Achilles, and nothing else.

vi.

The sun never sets, but still I could feel the sensation of time slipping from me. Another moment without Achilles, half of my soul. Another day of exploring and swimming and climbing, and not seeing his blonde head just a few paces ahead of me.

I come to know most of those who are here with me; there are not many. So few are great enough during their lives to achieve Elysium. I still do not remember what exactly I had done, but I still felt as though I should not be here.

I walk along the riverbank, mindlessly poking at stray twigs and rocks with my toes. I crouch and pick one up, turning it over and over in my hands; I think of the many games we’d come up with, Achilles and I. A new one nearly every night, as we lay in our bedroom alone, or as we sat on the ridge of Pelion, eyes towards the stars and each other. Too many to even count.

My fingers twitch, and I toss the rock across the river, watching as it skips along the water once, twice. A grossly bad throw.

“You should be more mindful of the fish below,” a voice says behind me.

I turn, and see: dark, rounded eyes of the richest brown. Long black hair falls into them, and her tanned hand brushes it away quickly. She is smiling at me, in a way that’s inherently exclusionary, as if she’d just told me an inside joke and was waiting for me to laugh. 

I blink, and I realize that I recognize her smile, the fullness of her lips, the sweet scent of her skin that the breeze carries under my nose. A wave of relief rushes through me, so much that it’s nearly dizzying.

I hear myself choke out her name. “Briseis.”

Her eyes fill, and her smile grows into a grin. “Patroclus.”

vii.

We talk about everything, about anything. It surprises me how much I remember now, as I sit with her once more— the memories come, and come, and come.

“Have you seen him?” I ask her, hope filling the empty atria of my heart.

Briseis looks at me, and her eyes tell me the answer before she can shake her head. Grief shudders through me, and I fling a hand out to grab on to something, anything. Something that will tether me to this place, if Achilles will not.

Her hand reaches out to cover mine, squeezing softly. “You should not despair yet,” she tells me, gently. “He will come.”

I close my eyes. How much longer? Already it feels like an eternity has passed without him beside me. I want to hope — but I have hoped, and prayed, and searched. How much longer? It seems as though the longer I am without him, the more my memories of him should fade, but they do not. They only become clearer, more visceral, until I wake in a cold sweat, gasping his name over and over until it loses meaning.

I had thought that it would be worse, to be the one left behind on Earth. But it is not so. It is a thousand, a million more times worse to be the one who leaves first.

viii.

There is talk circling among us. _A hero has come to Judgement,_ they say. I linger around them, soaking up the rumors like rainwater. The hope that rises within me is nearly deafening; _Achilles is here,_ I think — no, I feel it. _He is finally here._

The wait is maddening. Briseis tries to distract me by teaching me how to weave the vines of the flowers she had picked, but my frenzied fingers tangle and crush the stems. I cannot help looking over my shoulder towards the gates, again and again, so that I might finally see the glint of his shining hair.

I wait and wait and wait. The others had long lost their patience and retired to their homes, but Briseis remains. She stays by my side as long as she can, but soon I see her eyes drop and her body sway with exhaustion. She tries to resist as I turn her back towards her home, almost suggesting that I, too, get some rest. It only takes one look for her to know that I will not, and she relents.

I am not sure how much time passes. The birds eventually fall silent, though the sun is high in the sky. Everything is still but the wind and the river, the cool water rushing over my feet — it is only this sensation that keeps me awake.

ix.

I am just drifting on the edge of sleep when I hear it.

It’s faint from this distance— just the suggestion of a sound. If everyone else had been awake, I would have missed it. My eyes fly open and I twist around, cold water splashing all over my tunic as I scramble to stand. The gates open, slowly, agonizingly so; I cannot bear to just watch, and so I run as fast as my legs will take me. Not quite as fast as Achilles, but fast enough.

The gates creak open further, and a figure steps out of the darkness and into the sunlight— I nearly lose my breath as I watch the light catch the golden strands of his hair, shining like the stars themselves. He looks no different than he did the day we landed on Troy; younger than my last memory of him, his face not yet hardened by war and blood and arrogant kings. I have loved all versions of him, every nuance and shape of him, but this Achilles is not Prince Achilles of Phthia, _Aristos Achaion._ This Achilles is my Achilles, the boy I had known in childhood; the honest and kind and mischievous man that he had grown into beside me. He is the Achilles that I would know in death, at the end of the world. 

I open my mouth to say his name, but no sound comes out. How long I had wished for this moment, and I cannot say anything at all. 

But then he turns and his eyes catch on me, and I do not need to. The expression on his delicate face is blank, at first — panic seizes me for a dreadful moment, but then I watch as his face explodes into a wild array of emotions: surprise, delight, yearning, relief, _love._

His voice is a cracked, dry thing, but it is the only thing I can hear as he says, “Patroclus.” _Pa-tro-clus._

My heart nearly bursts inside my chest. “Achilles,” I breathe, just barely.

My muscles are itching to run, but I stay where I am, watching as he approaches closer, closer, closer. His arm is shaking as he reaches out a hand to me — I grasp it, and we come together like an exhale of air, a sigh of relief. His hand tightens around mine, and suddenly we are laughing and crying and smiling, our souls tethering together once more. 

The sun shines brighter than ever before, and I have never felt more alive.

**Author's Note:**

> this has to be the fastest fic i have ever written. it's surprising how easy the words flow out when you're still emotionally damaged from 4000 year old guys being dudes.
> 
> \+ i know that Hades is not the one who actually hands out judgements all day in the underworld, but Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus is a handful to read that no one really needs lol. and i might be naive to hope that all three of them would end up in elysium, but LISTEN,, there r no rules and this is not the iliad. homer can fight me ok 
> 
> feedback is appreciated ♡


End file.
